


Bacherlor Auction

by itsalwayssunnyit



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Bachelor Auction, Banter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28942704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwayssunnyit/pseuds/itsalwayssunnyit
Summary: After the unfortunate series of events that led to Lady Elisabeth Ashbury's demise and the subsequente return of Jonathan Reid to London with his metaphorical tail between his legs, the good doctor moves back into his childhoood home and spends most of his free time in the company of his mother, which is precisely how he ends up in the charity event during which a Night on the Town, in the company of a very familiar vampire hunter, is being auctioned."That man-" Emelyne Reid asks. "Do you know him?""Yes, he’s… a friend," Jonathan quietly explains."Oh? We should bid on him, then," she replies, raising her paddle with a giggle before Jonathan can tell her otherwise. The auction caller acknowledges their bid, confirming the increment, and she sighs, "Oh, this is fun. Isn’t this fun, Jonny?"Jonathan is not inclined to agree, but doesn't have the heart to contradict her either.Fair warning, I've taken some liberties with the game's lore in order to make the dinner from chapter 2 work, so bear with me
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> not beta read, so all mistakes are mine and all feedback is greatly appreciated <3

After Elisabeth Ashbury’s tragic passing and Jonathan’s defeated-yet-victorious return to London, life slowly but steadily went back to normal — or whatever normal can be achieved when one is a blood-sucking creature of the night. Jonathan ends up moving back into his childhood home, where he takes care of his old mother while continuing to practice medicine. He steers clear of Pembroke Hospital, though. Last he heard, the hospital was being run by Dr. Strickland after Swansea’s… disappearance. He doesn’t know much else, though, as he makes a point of avoiding the place at all costs.

Too many memories.

He also makes a point of not working as much as he did in order to have plenty of free time to spend with his mother. He realises now just how close he came to losing her and she’s in such a frail state these days he finds himself more often than not wondering how much longer he’ll be able to appreciate her company. He fully intends to enjoy as much as he can of whatever time she has left, though. That’s why when Emelyne Reid is invited to attend a charity dinner — meant to raise funds for the revamping of the areas of the city that have been the most affected by the recently eradicated epidemic — Jonathan is very happy to escort her.

It turns out to be quite a lovely event too, despite how uncomfortable Jonathan is with rubbing elbows with London’s up-and-coming elite. He’s always been more of an academic, though. Regardless of his family social status, he’s not so at ease when put under the spotlight like this, making polite small talk and pretending to be interested in petty the gossip his and his mother’s acquaintances ‘shouldn’t but can’t help but’ share in whispers.

It is only natural that they attend such events from time to time, however. Jonathan vaguely remembers having come with his sister to similar gatherings a couple of times, but that had been _before_. Stepping foot into the richly decorated main hall of one of the oldest buildings in the wealthier area of London is like sliding right into a completely different era. The excited chatting around the dinner tables, soft music in the background, the whiff of perfume and cologne in the air — it’s all too familiar and yet painfully alien.

Jonathan does his best to be a charming companion. He makes polite conversation with his mother’s friends, pretends to drink from the glass of champagne he’s handed and even gracefully accepts an impromptu invitation to come lecture at the city’s nursing college as a guest sometime in the next month. Dinner is a rather uneventful affair as is. He tries not to make a fuss about not eating, but nobody seems to mind it much or even notice, really, and eventually they move on to the auction part of the event. Jonathan tags along more out of obligation than genuine interest, because they have already prepared a generous donation for later and the last thing they need is more stuff around the house.

Still, it’s quite entertaining to watch the rich and powerful compete for random knickknacks, more of a pissing contest than anything else. Jonathan sits by his mother and tries not to look too amused by rich people failing to get their way.

His humour quickly vanishes, however, when the next auction item is brought in and his eyes meet the sullen scowl of none other than Geoffrey McCullum, leader of the Guard of Priwen and one of the last few tentative acquaintances Jonathan still has in his life. They’ve been on more friendly terms the last year or so, coming as far as to collaborate once or twice when necessary. As Jonathan fell into a more secluded lifestyle, though, they sort of lost sight of one another.

They’re in each other’s sights now, however.

And Jonathan had imagined that Priwen would be one of the organisations benefited by the event seeing as they are still working on strengthening the city’s defences against whatever blood-sucking threats still lurk in the dark alleys, so Geoffrey’s presence at the event is not that much of a surprise. But that doesn’t explain why the hunter is stepping onto the stage, nodding politely at the onlookers and even throwing a playful wink here and there while the announcer says that the next item, the next item is-

A night on the town in the pleasant company of Mr. McCullum, dinner and the ballet or some other programme of your preference. The bid caller sets a very reasonable starting price and Jonathan frowns in confusion as people start bidding.

And then he snorts.

“What is it, Jonny?” When Jonathan looks at his mother, she has a curious glint in her eyes, one he hasn’t seen in a very long time. “That man- do you know him?”

“Yes, he’s… a friend,” Jonathan quietly explains, his attention back to where Geoffrey is nodding his thanks to the group of young ladies who placed the latest offer. It’s not an absurd amount of money or anything, but Priwen can probably use the funds.

“Oh? We should bid on him, then,” Jonathan’s mother says, raising her paddle with a giggle before Jonathan can tell her otherwise. The auction caller acknowledges their bid, confirming the increment, and she sighs, “Oh, this is fun. Isn’t this fun, Jonny?”

And the thing is, Jonathan doesn’t have the heart to contradict her. She seems to be having the time of her life. When he meets Geoffrey’s eyes from across the room, though, he has the sudden feeling that he’s just done something he shouldn’t have done even though he barely moved. The look on the hunter’s face is at first confused, then surprised and then… _angry_. He’s saying something to the bid caller, but the man ignores him in favour of looking for someone to outbid the Reids. No one seems to be about to.

Before Geoffrey can further express his discontentment, the gravel is striking down with a grim sense of finality and Jonathan can’t help but let out a desperate little laugh. His mother is laughing too, although for entirely different reasons.

Jonathan hasn’t heard her laugh in so long. She looks so much younger, suddenly, so much like the mother Jonathan grew up with.

“Sold! To the lady in the back, Ms Reid!” the bid caller declares.

Emelyne waves a hand at her son, having apparently had enough excitement for the time being. “You go, dear Jonny. I don’t feel like going up there.”

It’s a bit surreal, walking over to the stage area to shake the bid caller’s hand and then Geoffrey’s, who is very openly glaring daggers at the Ekon. it’s not only the hunter’s gaze that weighs on Jonathan, however, but the gaze of all the others’ who are present. He’s very relieved to be excused as the next auction item is brought on.

Geoffrey is right behind him, though, saying, “I can’t believe you,” as soon as they’re out everyone’s line of sight. Jonathan stops walking as they come to a window facing the garden outside. It’s a very dark night, a new moon and the stars hidden behind thick clouds, but he can see the pale camellias timidly blossoming. When he turns to face Geoffrey, he’s surprised to find that the hunter’s annoyed glower has quickly turned amused. “I must thank you, though. Priwen can really use the money.”

Jonathan shrugs, a sudden wave of embarrassed coming over him out of nowhere. “We were going to make a donation anyway, but then the auction came on,” he explains in a rush. “My mother, she- I- I apologise. We don't have to-”

“I'm a man of my word, Reid,” Geoffrey interrupts him, a hand raised as if to placate the Ekon’s anxiety. His voice, gentle at first, turns considering as he elaborates, “ _Although_... you bought yourself dinner with me and I know for a fact that you don't eat. Food, that is. So we seem to be at an impasse. I can't take you to dinner, unless... Well, unless _I'm_ dinner.”

The hunter looks utterly proud of his wit. Jonathan can’t help but chuckle.

“As much as I believe you'd make a fine main dish, hunter, you really don't have to concern yourself with that.”

Jonathan cringes at his own words as soon as they leave his lips. This is the first actual conversation he is having with someone who isn’t his patient, his mother or Avery in well over a week. He’s definitely not at his sharpest. Geoffrey seems pleasantly surprised by Jonathan’s poorly themed joke, though, even if he reacts with feigned annoyance that Jonathan can see right through.

“Just... shut up.” Geoffrey crosses his arms. The sound of the gravel striking down again makes them turn their gazes towards the stage area once more, where a green vase has just been sold for almost five times the price Jonathan and his mother are paying for Geoffrey’s time. Geoffrey sighs. “Is the ballet okay with you?”

“I…” The image of Geoffrey sitting by his side at the ballet comes flooding into Jonathan’s mind like a painting, unbidden. It’s absurd, right, a normalcy he’s got no right to experience anymore. Still, he can’t help but _crave_ it. Jonathan swallows around his suddenly too tight throat. “Certainly.”

Now they’re bringing up onto the auction area a painting of an ocean landscape, dramatic waves crashing onto a ship, angry lightning zapping through the stormy sky above it. Jonathan tears his gaze away from it just as Geoffrey hands him a piece of paper with an address on it.

“Next Saturday, eight o'clock. Don't be late.”

And then he’s gone and Jonathan has no idea what to do with himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dinner and... well. Dinner.
> 
> BUT WITH FEELINGS (˚Õ˚)ر ~~~~╚╩╩╝

Facing the tall mirror in the far corner of his bedroom, Jonathan nervously undoes his tie and starts to tie it back into a knot for what feels like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. This is probably not the ideal night to try his hand at a full Windsor and the whole ordeal is only making him nervous instead of ready, which the purpose of it _and_ what he has to be very soon if he doesn’t want to get schooled on matters of punctuality by Geoffrey McCullum of all people.

As if reading her son’s mind, Emelyne Reid warns, “You’re going to be late, Johnny.”

Her words still manages to startle him. He’d been so focused on the silk between his fingers he didn’t even notice her standing in the doorway, watching him with fond amusement in her eyes. It’s just not the right colour, though. The tie. Not with the waistcoat he’s wearing, anyway. So Emelyne makes her way to the wardrobe and hums thoughtfully to herself until she finds what she’s looking for.

“Here, you should wear this one,” she says, offering Jonathan a pale blue tie. “It brings out your eyes, dear.”

Jonathan is not sure if that’s a good thing, but accepts her suggestion anyway. He can’t recall the last time his mother helped him get ready for a date, though, if ever. He has memories of Mary picking out his outfits once or twice, but his mother?

He goes for a less complicated knot, this time, and then raises an eyebrow at the blue fabric sitting on his chest. It really does make his eyes seem a bit brighter. When he turns to his mother, she is waving a small bottle towards him.

“Cologne?” he asks.

“Of course! You don’t want to be a lousy date, do you, now?” She replies, dousing him in musk, lavender and cedar before stepping back with the brightest smile Jonathan’s seen on her in years. “Oh, you look so handsome,” she coos, smoothing fingers slowly over his hair and straightening his tie. Her movements are a bit shaky, but Jonathan lets her fuss over him, enjoys her care and attention. Underneath his calm façade, however, he’s vibrating with giddy anxiety.

A date with a vampire hunter. Huh. Life just keeps getting stranger and stranger.

He kisses his mother goodbye with a smiling, “All right, I’m going now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Because she sleeps early. Not because he intends to spend the whole night out, of course. That would be utterly inappropriate of him, now, wouldn’t it?

-x-

When Jonathan arrives at the doorsteps of a small house a bit south of Pembroke Hospital, he’s wondering if he got the right place. When Geoffrey McCullum answers the door with a dark apron draped over his shoulders, Jonathan knows the place is the right one, but is uncertain about the time. Geoffrey seems a bit surprised to see him.

“I apologise for my tardiness,” Jonathan offers after an uncomfortably long stretch of silence.

“Not at all, Dr Reid,” Geoffrey replies, stepping back to let Jonathan inside. Jonathan is pretty sure he’s not imagining the relief he hears in the hunter’s voice. “May I take your coat?”

Jonathan nods. Geoffrey steps behind him just as he slides his coat off.

“I take it we’re not eating out?” Jonathan asks. He’s still a bit curious about the eating part of the night. He doesn’t really expect Geoffrey to cater to his dietary requirements, but the apron and the fact that they’re going in instead of out has his mind reeling.

Geoffrey hangs Jonathan’s coat on a rack by the door and turns to the Ekon.

“I fear not many establishments around our fine city will serve the sort of nourishment you require, doctor.” The hunter’s words earn him a surprised laugh.

Jonathan has always been fond of the Geoffrey’s often inappropriate sense of humour and it’s such a welcome change to the tentative and careful conversations he usually shares with those around him he finds himself relaxing even though he’s currently in the presence of the one person who has got any hope of killing him if he set his mind to it — well, if he set his mind to it _again_. Geoffrey doesn’t look particularly threatening tonight, though, freshly shaven and comfortably at ease in his own space.

“So,” the hunter begins, “I thought we’d have dinner here then head on over to the ballet, it that’s okay with you.”

“That sounds good,” Jonathan replies, chancing a glance around as he follows Geoffrey deeper into the house. He never really spared a thought to what McCullum’s living quarters might look like. He always assumed he’d live wherever Priwen’s headquarters were located at the moment. Reality, though, turns out to be much more interesting that his assumptions. The hunter’s living room is tidy and clean, but it feels very much lived in, books and papers piled up on shelves and tables, a soft worn quilt folded on the arm of a cosy-looking couch next to a strategically positioned lamp that makes the image of Geoffrey pop into Jonathan’s mind, the man lying back on the couch with a book in his hands, no dark and dangerous creatures to concern himself with for the time being.

To the side, an archway leads into a modest dining room, conscientiously set for dinner. Jonathan can smell the dozen or so candles scattered about before he sees them, the warm scent of burning wicks and slowly melting wax. “So, I might have… cooked,” Geoffrey explains, uncomfortably shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Well, whatever the definition of what I did was. I’m not even sure if it’s any good and it’s very… experimental. So I reckon you should be careful when eating.”

Jonathan can’t help but raise his eyebrows in surprise. Even though they joked about it, he didn’t really expect to be fed at all.

Before he can say anything, Geoffrey rushes to explain, “It’s nothing that will kill you, see. I don’t think so, at least, but I’m not entirely sure it’s _safe_? I did my research as thoroughly as possible, but the materials I have are not exactly reliable.” He nods towards the wooden table to the side. “Just… have a seat, will you? Make yourself comfortable. I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

Smiling to himself, Jonathan does just as he’s told and takes the chair by the window. He’s got a strange little feeling in the pit of his stomach, a mix of anticipation and euphoria he can’t make sense of. It’s still pretty early and, if he focuses, he can hear the faint sounds of the conversations people are having on the street, on their way back home from their friends’ and relatives’ houses. He can also hear Geoffrey in the kitchen, the clatter of pans and plates, the shallow way the hunter is breathing as he concentrates, humming to himself from time to time. At first, the only thing Jonathan can smell is the melting wax of the candles and something flowery in the background, probably in the living room. Were there any flowers there? He can’t remember. And then he can’t even focus on it anymore because whatever it is Geoffrey is preparing in the kitchen reaches Jonathan’s nostrils and he is suddenly _ravenous_.

It’s blood. He _knows_ it’s blood. If he’s going to eat something, it has to be blood. Right?

Somehow, though, he was not at all prepared for it.

It takes every ounce of his carefully cultivated self-control to remain in his chair politely waiting for Geoffrey to bring him his plate. It looks like beet-soup, the dish, this dark red that looks even darker against the bright white china. A second plate, which Jonathan imagines is Geoffrey’s, contains a sort of warm salad Jonathan doesn’t really care for.

“So, I can’t properly take you out to dinner, as promised, so I tried to do the next best thing. Here’s the entrée,” Geoffrey announces, setting the soup plate in front of Jonathan. As he does so, Jonathan manages to get a look at the clothes the hunter’s wearing now that the apron has been discarded, a pair of fine dark trousers and a pale shirt — quite different from the uniform he usually wears, the white fabric clashing beautifully with his dark hair. He looks good, Jonathan thinks, and then he thinks that this is no revelation, really. He’s always knew Geoffrey was a handsome man. The soft candlelight suits him so well Jonathan can’t help but be distracted for a second as Geoffrey sets his own plate down across from him and then gets them both glasses and a bottle of pale golden liquid. He pours as he says, “It’s not a five-course meal or anything, but… I’ll shut up, now. A drink.”

Jonathan does his best not to look like a starving maniac as he picks up his spoon. He’s painfully aware of his fangs in a way he rarely ever is, so he glances at the hunter sitting across from him before digging in and casually asks, “What are you having, Geoffrey?”

Geoffrey spears a soft-looking leaf from his salad and explains, “This is… spinach, basically. I’ll have some liver later.” Jonathan nods politely, suddenly unable to gauge the appropriate way to approach his food, and Geoffrey add, “Most people are not a fan of liver, but I could always use the iron.”

The way he says it, the very corner of his lips twitching, brings so much warmth to the Ekon’s chest he finds himself struggling not to smile too widely. Geoffrey nods at Jonathan’s plate.

“Go ahead. Enjoy, but please go slowly. Cautiously, I mean.”

Geoffrey looks like he still wants to say something more, but changes his mind.

Jonathan tries the drink first. It’s… sweet. And cold. But it doesn’t taste of anything in particular. He can’t quite place the flavour. He takes a very small, very measured sip at first. It’s certainly pleasant and when he doesn’t feel like he’s about to puke his guts out after a minute, he tries another sip. Then he tries the soup.

Maybe he should have braced himself a bit better for it, though, because as soon as he closes his lips around the first spoonful, he lets out this throaty moan that has Geoffrey looking up at him with something between concern and amusement in his eyes.

It’s blood. _Human_ blood. Jonathan is certain of it. It’s more than the flavour that gives it away, though. It’s how it _feels_ , like his very soul is so alive it burns. It’s creamy, though, the dish. And blood is many things, but it is not _creamy_. There’s some other flavour there as well, something fresh he can’t quite put his finger on but that has his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Glad you liked it.” Geoffrey doesn’t even bother concealing his satisfaction. Then, he winks and adds, “I really put myself into it.”

And the grin plastered on his face is this dorky thing Jonathan’s never seen before, but the Ekon is too busy processing the electricity zapping through his core to really make sense of it.

“It’s my own blood you’re eating, Reid,” Geoffrey explains after a few moments of silence as if tired of waiting for Jonathan to understand the joke. And Jonathan is not surprised, really. He can’t really imagine however else Geoffrey would have gotten a hold of fresh blood to feed him, but hearing it put so bluntly startles a laugh out of him.

“I knew it tasted familiar,” Jonathan says and then cringes around a mouthful of soup. When he looks up at Geoffrey, though, the hunter doesn’t seem disturbed in the slightest by his lack of tact. Jonathan swallows thickly, struggling back into social aptitude, and asks, “What else is in it?”

“It’s infused with herbs. Basil, among others,” Geoffrey vaguely explains, gesturing impatiently. “I’ll give you a recipe later if you want. Go on and eat, now.”

Jonathan almost doesn’t want to, though, because once he finishes his soup, it will be gone and, oh, how terribly he’ll miss it. So, between one spoonful and the next, he asks if cooking is something Geoffrey enjoys doing. The hunter says that yes, it is, but it’s not something he gets to do very often unless there’s a celebration or something, which he seems genuinely regretful about.

They keep talking until their plates are empty and then Jonathan announces, “Well, I have to say, I’m very impressed.” He says it just to make Geoffrey smile and mirrors the hunter’s satisfied grin, admitting. “I really missed this.” Geoffrey tilts his head to the side, waiting for Jonathan to proceed. “Actually sitting on a table to eat, I feel almost… normal.”

“I know what you mean,” Geoffrey says, something dark hovering behind his eyes for a fleeting second before he stands up to take their plates away.

Geoffrey is gone and Jonathan is still trying to make sense of the heat thrumming under his skin. He said he missed this, but he hasn’t really felt like this before. Ever. This sated. Warm and, well, _happy_.

He also doesn’t remember ever having fed on blood without bloodlust and shame and _disgust_ distorting every sensation. He feels nothing of the sort now, though.

A warm sort of anticipation settles over him and he smiles when Geoffrey comes back into the dining room, a plate of roasted potatoes and liver for himself in one plate and something that looks like pudding in the other. Conversation flows more easily now that Jonathan knows what sensations to expect as he eats. He asks Geoffrey about the books in the living room, if that’s also a hobby of his. Part hobby, part research, Geoffrey says. He does enjoy fiction, but confesses he doesn’t have much of an appreciation for poetry.

Jonathan smiles a bit wider, happy to find that they share the same opinion. After dedicating years and years to anatomy books and medical journals, poetry doesn’t really manage to touch him at all. At this point, conversation is easy as breathing, and then Geoffrey once again takes their empty plates away, announcing that they really should leave as soon as they finish dessert or they’ll be late — which is not fashionable at all, regardless of what Jonathan’s posh neighbours seem to think.

Dessert is a mousse of sorts for Jonathan, faintly sweet and bloody red and Jonathan can barely believe something like that is allowed to exist. He can barely keep his voice down as he savours the dish. Geoffrey, on the other hand, is having a fairly humble fruit salad and Jonathan can’t help but feel like a test subject of sorts for whatever vampiric research the hunter dedicates himself to in his spare time. But he honestly can’t even be offended. He would more than willingly volunteer himself for it, in fact, and Geoffrey laughs out loud when Jonathan tells him that (as soon as he’s able of coherent speech), the sound of his laughter rich and deep and just as sweet as the mousse Jonathan just finished devouring.

Geoffrey flat out refuses Jonathan’s offer to help clean up after they finish dessert, gathering the dirty dishes with a good-natured, “All right, Dr Reid. Let’s get you to the ballet, now. Let me just tidy up a bit. You can go ahead and wait in the living room and I’ll be right with you.”

Jonathan stands up slowly. He doesn’t feel heavy and sluggish the way he used to after a big meal before being turned. If anything, he feels more alert and awake then he has in a very long time, but that might be the blood. He stretches lazily and glances out the window, wondering what other surprises this night might still hold. He can hear Geoffrey in the kitchen, rinsing the dishes and washing his hands. He sort of wants to follow him there, linger around him, but feels like he’d be intruding, so he moves to the living room where he spends the next ten minutes or so perusing Geoffrey’s bookshelves. Geoffrey’s heavy footsteps have moved to dining room now and the scent of the candles being put out one floats towards Jonathan as the Ekon pulls out a thick volume from the shelf, an amused smirk twisting his lips.

“I am almost afraid to ask,” Geoffrey says as he lays eyes on his grinning guest. Jonathan lifts the book.

“Bram Stoker?”

Geoffrey shrugs, but his cheeks have become a very vivid shade of pink. “I have no arguments with which to defend myself,” he says, getting his coat from the rack and putting it on before holding Jonathan’s coat up for him. Jonathan sets the book down, tries not the think of how warm he feels when Geoffrey says, “I must say, though, as far as Jonathans go, I like you much better than Mr Harker.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes, trying to keep his tone light as he teases, “Oh, I bet you say that to all Jonathans you meet.”

Geoffrey is grinning when he puts the book away and then he asks, “Have _you_ read it?”

It’s Jonathan’s turn to shrug off his discomfort in order to admit, “It is a favourite of my mother’s.” It’s not even that it’s a bad book or anything, but it strikes him as odd, reading about vampires. If Geoffrey is of the same opinion, though, he doesn’t mention anything and his smile is gentle when he leads them outside.

As soon as his feet touch the sidewalk outside, Jonathan freezes, suddenly unable to make sense of the vivid memory he has of the hunter’s wrath when he tried to put him down, judging Jonathan responsible for the curse that haunted London, and the warm hand pressed onto his upper back, light and so meaningful despite how easy it seems to be for Geoffrey to just reach out and touch him like this.

It is almost unbelievable how far they’ve come and Jonathan can’t help but feel hopeful, wondering how far they might still go.

“Jonathan?” Is it the first time Geoffrey is calling him by the first name? It doesn’t feel like it. Geoffrey says it so easily, so simply, but the single word makes Jonathan incredibly aware of his own body, the words he can’t find, the emotions tightening his chest. There’s concern on Geoffrey’s face, a frown. “Are you all right? Is it the food?”

“No, not at all. It’s just- I was-” It’s unthinkable, really, that the _food_ would be a problem. Jonathan is almost offended on behalf of the food. And flustered, suddenly. He has to take a deep breath before he can speak with any semblance of coherence. “I really ought to thank you. It was such a lovely meal. I didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to experience something similar.”

The blush on Geoffrey’s face, which never left ever since Jonathan asked about the Bram Stoker volume in his shelf, darkens a bit further at the compliment and he looks away. His hand falls away from Jonathan as Geoffrey averts his eyes with a modest, “I’m afraid it might be too early to thank me, doctor. The night has just begun. Plenty of time for me to ruin your night, still.” He offers Jonathan his arm. “Shall we?”

Jonathan loops his arm through Geoffrey’s without a second thought. Only much later he’ll wonder if that was the moment when they stepped over the line that had defined their relationship thus far or if they’ve always been heading this way from that very first moment when Geoffrey tried to stare him down at Swansea’s office.

The answer, intangible as it is, is not as important as the quickening of Jonathan’s heart, how right it feels to walk close beside Geoffrey, laughing together, leaning into each other, speaking in quiet whispers as if sharing secrets.


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan can’t even remember the last time he’s been to the ballet. He escorted his sister more than once, but he was never particularly fond of the experience — and neither was Mary, if he remember correctly, especially when the experience included having to listen to her brother moaning about how long the presentation was and how many intermissions do you really need, honestly? Heading inside the theatre is a bittersweet thing, it makes him ache with longing for something he’ll never have again, but instead of heading into the theatre to take a seat, Geoffrey heads upstairs, towards the private boxes, saying something about this grateful widow whom the Guard helped and who thought giving them access to her family’s box at the opera was a very nice thing to do for men who hunted supernatural predators for a living. Geoffrey never had the heart to point out the absurdity of it and he made sure to come by from time to time if the box was free and convey how pleasant the experience was whenever he saw her.

“I’m usually alone, though,” he tells Jonathan just as they enter the box. It’s big enough for half a dozen chairs, squeezed tightly, but there are only two tonight. Jonathan takes his time looking over the edge at the people downstairs, some glancing up and around, waving and nodding at one another. “See anyone familiar?” Geoffrey asks, coming to stand next to Jonathan.

Jonathan discreetly points towards a young couple sitting near the back, the woman looking excitedly all around her. “The husband. I think he’s Dr Strickland’s nephew or something?”

“We should say hello during intermission, if you want to.” Geoffrey doesn’t look particularly interested in that. It hardly matter, though, with the easy way he’s glancing around, the soft smile curling his lips. Jonathan is so entertained watching him he has no idea what makes Geoffrey say, “Ah, good. It’s about to start. Come, have a seat,” but he’s following his lead, taking the chair next to him a settling in.

As it turns out, the ballet is just as endlessly long as Jonathan remembers. It doesn’t bother him as much as when he was younger, though, sitting quietly in the dark while dancers jump and twirl to an eerie type of music that slowly morphs into a sweet ballad. He wonders if he’s finally shed the restlessness from his youth, but the truth is that he’s paying more attention to Geoffrey’s genuine enjoyment of the presentation than to the presentation itself. The hunter’s face is relaxed, his eyes lit up in a delightful mix of amazement and plain pleasure that makes Jonathan’s mouth go dry.

It’s unfamiliar but not surprising, feeling this attracted to Geoffrey. To a man. It is a rather unique experience, however. Jonathan is not really used to feeling this way — towards anyone, for that matter. But he could have seen this coming, if he’d been looking at all. He has no excuse for how taken aback he is, really. By the time intermission rolls in, Jonathan’s heart is jumping up to his throat whenever Geoffrey as much as glances towards him and the hand that brushes against his back as they head outside so that they can stretch their legs a bit, oh, it feels like touching a livewire.

It’s so different, intermission with Geoffrey by his side. Maybe it’s just that Jonathan is older, now, no longer a fresh-faced young man playing at adulthood as he greets friends and acquaintances of his family. Now, he nods effortlessly at former patients and neighbours, lets Geoffrey introduce him to a person or two, but mostly he stands by Geoffrey’s side, talking in quiet tones about anything that pops into their heads. After a few minutes, people give up n trying to make conversation with them, seeing as they’re completely absorbed in one another. Geoffrey looks almost regretful when the second act is about to begin and they barely make it to their box in time.

They don’t even bother coming out at all during the second intermission, just stand near the edge of the box with their backs to the stage as Jonathan confesses not being overly fond of the ballet. He’s quite surprised Geoffrey seems to like it so much.

“Not that much of a woodsman, I must confess,” Geoffrey replies, although not unkindly.

“Me, on the other hand? I’m more of a woodsman than I’d like to admit,” Jonathan says. As time goes by, he finds himself more aligned with the beast that lurks inside him that with this role he finds himself playing, the good and kind doctor. “The truth is, much as I’ve been born into this prim and proper society, I’ve never really belonged here.”

Geoffrey offers him a sympathetic nod. “I don’t think anyone ever really does,” he says. “We could have gone somewhere else, you know. If you had told me.”

Jonathan shakes his head at that. “It’s fine. It’s been a… _surprisingly_ pleasant experience, despite how little interest I have in dancing.”

Geoffrey dispassionately argues, “The athleticism of it, for one, I’m sure you can appreciate, even if everything else eludes you.” Then he smiles, looking Jonathan up and down with amused disapproval. “Like the _barbarian_ you are. Savage, really. Barely fit for society.”

Jonathan sort of wants to kiss Geoffrey right then and there. Scandalise the London elite, who love to think of themselves as so modern and ahead of their time. Taste the hunter’s intoxicating laughter straight from the source. But the third act is just about to start so he settles for chuckling to himself as they take their seats once again. Later, he pretends he doesn’t see Geoffrey trying to discreetly dry his eyes as something surely very moving takes place on the stage — Jonathan gave up following whatever story is supposed to be happening halfway through the first act.

They make their way out while people are still clapping and, when asked why, Geoffrey stage-whispers, “Well, if you want to stay and socialise and have to shoulder your way out afterwards, by all means.”

They don’t stop walking until they’re outside. Jonathan is very glad once they reach the streets, the cold air hitting his face with a surprisingly sobering effect. He falls into step beside Geoffrey as they walk around the theatre towards the side street, almost dragging their feet with how slowly they’re going. Geoffrey lights up a cigarette, hands Jonathan a second one and they’re halfway through both of them, a few blocks away from the theatre already, when Jonathan thinks to say, “Not that I mind the flânerie, but I’m wondering, dear hunter, where are we headed?”

The light of an amber streetlamp catches Geoffrey’s face and smoke swirls around him as he replies, “Why, I’m walking you home safely. Like a gentleman.”

A gentleman on a first date. Jonathan is glad it’s dark because he surely has never had a more stupid look on his face than as he says, “You don’t have to, you know. I’m probably the most dangerous thing one could come across in this city, after all.”

“I won’t dispute that,” Geoffrey ponders. “You said it yourself, though. It’s been a ‘surprisingly pleasant experience’. Are you in a rush to be rid of my company?”

The amusement on Geoffrey’s voice makes Jonathan’s face feel hot. He takes one last drag of his cigarette like he’s inhaling courage alongside the smoke. “Not at all, but I would hate for you to go out of your way to do something you don’t want to just because of some misplaced sense of obligation.”

At that, Geoffrey stops walking and turns to face Jonathan. The Reid Residence is closer to the theatre than Geoffrey’s place is and they’re almost there, already. Jonathan is glad they stopped. He’s not ready for the night to come to an end.

The fondness on the hunter’s face is this terrifying thing. Jonathan wants to kiss it as much as he wants to get as far away from it as possible, heart fluttering like a panicked bird inside his chest.

“I will be completely honest with you, now, Jonathan,” Geoffrey begins. Jonathan swallows.

“Of course,” he says, putting his cigarette out. Geoffrey’s gaze is unwavering. Unafraid.

“You have often argued that you and I are actually on the same side of this fight against the dark forces, right? And it took me a good while to really accept that. Even now, there’s a part of me that is just waiting for the other shoe to drop and that might never really change. Paranoia is an old friend of mine, you see, and it has served me very well so far, if I may say so.”

He pauses at that, something vulnerable flickering across his face, the apprehension of a man who knows he might have revealed too much. Jonathan steps a bit closer to him, sympathy written all over him.

“It sounds… lonely,” he offers, very softly.

Geoffrey seems surprised by Jonathan’s assessment, but he nods in agreement after a moment. “I just don’t want you to think that my enjoyment tonight is attached to the money you donated at that… horrid event.” Geoffrey widens his eyes dramatically and Jonathan smiles. The air feels a bit lighter, already.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he considers. “My mum had the most delightful time.”

“I’ll bet,” Geoffrey says. “What I meant is: I really enjoyed your company tonight. And I’m glad you and your mum had the stupid — moronic, really — idea of bidding on me. I could be stuck with the teenage daughter of a Duke or a Viscount hearing all about her embroidery and her… picketing for the right to vote or whatever it is girls do nowadays.”

Jonathan snorts. “Instead, you’re stuck with me,” he gestures at himself with a self-deprecating smile and steps back, ready to resume their walking.

Geoffrey doesn’t move.

“I’m not complaining,” he says in this quiet, husky voice that makes Jonathan stop and face him again. They’re right in the middle of two streetlights, more shadow than form to them, but Jonathan can see Geoffrey’s face, hopeful and apprehensive and almost _dangerous_.

Kissing Geoffrey McCullum is not a decision Jonathan would make lightly, but, when he actually does it, it doesn’t even feel like a decision at all. All it takes is three steps to bring him right up into the hunter’s space. He cups his face in one hand and Geoffrey is smiling when Jonathan kisses him for the first time.

The hunter’s mouth is surprisingly soft, warm, the first touch between their lips this loving and almost chaste press. The heat behind it is something Jonathan can taste, though, something he longs to feel against his tongue, so tilts their heads in opposite directions and lets their lips slide more completely together, one arm looped around Geoffrey’s middle as the hunter’s hands find Jonathan’s shoulders. He does this thing with his chin that sends an electric hum through Jonathan’s vain, Geoffrey’s lips red hot against Jonathan’s colder lips, his tongue smoke-bitter but sweet like addiction.

Pulling away even if it’s just for a few seconds while Geoffrey inhales a shaky breath might just be one of the hardest things Jonathan’s ever done.

“Would you-” Jonathan tries to say but he’s smiling too much, laughter bubbling up his throat. “Would you like to come back to mine for a night cap?”

Geoffrey’s grin is a mirror of his own when he replies, “ _Scandalous_ , Dr Reid. What will the neighbours say?”

And, well, that’s not a ‘no’. So Jonathan tightens his arms around Geoffrey and replies with a high-pitched and scandalised, “‘Oh, dear, is that Emelyne’s boy I see, snogging that big, manly man, over there?’” Jonathan presses their lips together into another kiss, and then another, and reiterates the invitation, “Come home with me.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Geoffrey manages to say as he lets Jonathan kiss him and hold him and take him wherever it is he wants to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and then they bone

Geoffrey never really gets around to drinking the whiskey Jonathan pours him because once they’re inside Jonathan’s bedroom the only thing he wants to taste is the Ekon’s lips.

He doesn’t miss the whiskey all that much, in the end.

The hunter would be lying if he said that this is a totally unexpected outcome for their night. At the night of the auction, Geoffrey had at first been taken aback by the idea of having to take Reid out. He wanted to flat out refuse it, but then he realised that, for one, he would be making his own life a lot harder by refusing to take money that would go towards funding the guard, and two: his first reaction, irritation and hostility, stemmed from a place that hasn’t really existed for a while, an animosity that has gradually dwindled into a sharp edged sort of civility in the time he and Reid have known each other. And then, as the week went by, the more Geoffrey worked on planning their night out, the more he found himself looking forward to it.

It is a surprise, though, that the night was so successful that he managed to end up in Jonathan’s bedroom with the calm and composed doctor’s tongue licking fire into his mouth with increasingly hungry kisses as their clothes are slowly pulled off one by one. Geoffrey had thought that, if they had a reasonably good time tonight, he might be able to talk Reid into repeating the experience sometime, maybe after that he could venture into stealing a kiss if the doctor seemed amenable to such indiscretions — which he had been pretty uncertain about, unsure whether Reid fancied blokes at all or was just being polite by going along with it. Well, at least until about halfway through their night, that is.

Reid might think himself the epitome of discretion, what with being able to live amongst mortals while harbouring a never-ending thirst for blood, but Geoffrey was able to see the signs after some time, glances that lingered, the all too happy way in which Reid welcomed his touches.

Certain as he might be at the moment, however, Geoffrey still finds himself wondering aloud, “Do you want to have sex?”

And it should be off-putting, hearing it put so bluntly, but Jonathan’s gaze darkens a bit further and he sags in relief as if those words were everything he’d been longing to hear. He nods, nose nudging Geoffrey’s, bare chest brushing the hunter’s, and whispers, “I would like that very much, yes.”

Geoffrey’s responding smile is this heated and hungry flash of teeth getting in the way of the kiss they share. Jonathan can’t get enough of Geoffrey’s kisses, of his warm and soft flesh, the hard muscles flexing under his touch, the shivers that bring goosebumps to Geoffrey’s strong arms, but he also can’t help but feel a cold flutter in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of having actual sex, he hasn’t been intimate with anyone in such a long time. He said yes to it, but hasn’t got a clue how to go about it. Should they flip a coin or something? He hadn’t really allowed himself to give much thought to what he wanted out of this night as he didn’t want to set himself up for disappointment, but now they’re naked in front of each other for the first time and Geoffrey is pulling at his wrist as he lies back onto Jonathan’s bed. Jonathan is struck by how gorgeous the hunter is, stretched out under him, displaying the whole pale and muscular expanse of his naked body like a feast, hard cock resting thick and flushed with blood on the crease of his thigh. Right then and there, with sudden breath-taking clarity, Jonathan knows _exactly_ what he wants.

Jonathan lets himself be pulled to lie on top of the hunter, smothering appreciative moans against his welcoming lips and letting their legs tangle, hips rolling together in inelegant, aborted thrusts, pushing hard lengths into one another like they just can’t help it. The longer they kiss, the louder Jonathan’s blood roars in his eardrums. Jonathan wants Geoffrey so much he’s shaking with it when he gets up to fetch a vial of lotion from his dresser.

Something must show on his face when he returns to the bed, because Geoffrey is looking at him very carefully, asking, “Are you sure?” and, “Do you know what you’re doing?” And there’s no judgement there. Not really. Not even a little bit. Just the sagacity of a man used to seeing what others usually don’t.

“In theory, yes,” Jonathan admits, which, in retrospect, might be a bigger admission than he’d be comfortable with.

Geoffrey rises to his knees and takes the lotion from Jonathan’s hand with a gentle, “Allow me,” and then pulls Jonathan into a slow kiss that breaks as he hunter slides his lips towards Jonathan’s neck and shoulder, heat like molten lava, scorching everything on its path. Jonathan closes his eyes, lets out a heavy exhale.

And lets Geoffrey lead.

If asked about it, Jonathan wouldn’t be able to explain exactly how he ended up on his back with a very naked and very aroused Geoffrey McCullum on top of him, holding himself up on an elbow and pressing sweet and soft kisses all over his lips and neck and chest while teasing a wet finger between his legs. But he’s not about to complain.

As a single digit sinks inside, thick but just barely breaching him, Geoffrey looks up, his eyes fiercely focused on Jonathan’s, and asks, “Is this all right?”

Jonathan nods, trying to relax against the prodding pressure. It doesn’t really hurt, but it’s a lot of sensation at once, foreign warmth pushing into a body that hasn’t been warm in such a long time. Jonathan holds on to Geoffrey’s shoulders and lets himself dive into the hunter’s heated gaze as that finger starts moving, slowly at first but more confidently the more deeply it reaches. Geoffrey holds his gaze, lips parted in awe, and after a few minutes a second finger joins the first, a pressure that has Jonathan choking on a startled gasp. Geoffrey’s eyelids flutter with contentment at the sound but his eyes never close, never leave Jonathan’s as he moves inside the Ekon, prodding, searching, a hungry snarl twisting his lips.

“Oh,” Jonathan pants as Geoffrey brushes against his prostate. It’s a lot, being slowly stretched open like this, and the added pleasure makes his eyes burn as he bites down on his lower lip. Geoffrey repeats the motion so carefully and deliberately Jonathan whimpers. “Oh, god.”

“More?” Geoffrey asks, shifting against Jonathan, his chest brushing lightly against Jonathan’s, his coarse hair tickling the Ekon’s smoother skin. Jonathan doesn’t answer, can’t find the words to either agree or deny him, shivering from head to toe. Geoffrey softens his touches, still stroking Jonathan’s insides with more careful motions, and asks, “Should I go slower?”

He doesn’t take his fingers out as he waits for Jonathan to find his words.

“It’s good, you can- you can continue.” Jonathan barely recognises his own voice, more breath than sound. He doesn’t trust himself to speak any louder lest he break into shivering moans and supplications.

Geoffrey brushes an almost kiss over Jonathan’s cheekbone as he whispers, “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Jonathan reassures him, eyes fluttering closed. “It’s good. It feels… oh, feels really good.”

“Here?” Geoffrey asks, pushing against that same spot, fingertips circling. Jonathan forces his eyes back open, entire body pulsing with need.

“Yes,” he tells Geoffrey and the hunter repeats the motion. “Yes, right there,” Jonathan pants, eyelids at half-mast, lost in the sensations wrecking his body, in Geoffrey’s ravenous gaze. “You can-”

“One more?” Geoffrey offers when Jonathan can’t get the words out and that’s not what Jonathan meant at all. What he wants is for Geoffrey to take his fingers out and give him something else, something that’s hanging heavy and hot like blood between the hunter’s legs, digging into Jonathan’s thigh in halted little thrusts. Before Jonathan can make his desire known, however, there’s a third finger squeezing in and he’s gasping as Geoffrey leans closer to whisper hotly in his ear, “Just to be safe.”

It barely hurts. That’s when Jonathan realises that Geoffrey is actually having fun at his expense, the insufferable jerk, slowly and steadily teasing the sanity out of him. Geoffrey fingers him very carefully and licks the shell of Jonathan’s ear, takes the lobe in between his lips and sucks, prompting a long, throaty moan from the Ekon.

Geoffrey chuckles at the reaction, warm breath brushing Jonathan’s neck, and Jonathan flinches even though he doesn’t mean to, gasping sharply and then grimacing in embarrassment. He’s just more ticklish than he remembers, apparently. Geoffrey doesn’t seem to mind his reaction if the self-satisfied grin on his face is anything to go by. In averting the hunter’s too knowing gaze, Jonathan glances down between their bodies. His face heats up at the sight of his lower belly covered in his own slick, his prick a dark, angry red, painfully hard and positively shuddering at every devastatingly perfect stroke of Geoffrey’s fingers inside him.

Then Geoffrey withdraws, sitting on his heels with a thoughtful look on his face. Jonathan suddenly feels very small even though they’re almost the same height, objectively speaking, so he sits up as well.

“Do you want to be on top?” Geoffrey asks, not bothering to hide how much the idea pleases him.

Jonathan nods after a second. “Is that all right?”

“Yes, that’s all right,” Geoffrey replies, grabbing one of the pillows from behind Jonathan so that he can lie back towards the foot of the bed. He pulls Jonathan with him as he does so, hands sliding eagerly over Jonathan’s thighs, his eyes roaming the Ekon’s pale body with the weight of a physical touch. Straddling Geoffrey, Jonathan notices a bruised puncture on the hunter’s arm and it says something about how little blood he currently has in his brain that it takes him a few seconds to understand it. He brushes his thumb against it.

Geoffrey smiles, tender and revealing, and tells Jonathan he’s not that good at drawing blood, it seems. He would make a terrible doctor.

“It’s harder to do it to yourself,” Jonathan explains. He doesn’t have to elaborate on how he knows that. “You bruised yourself,” Jonathan says, eyes fixed on the dark purple marring the hunter’s skin. He leans closer, brushes his lips against the mark, kisses it lightly. Up close, he can smell the hunter’s blood very faintly and as he drags his tongue against it, he knows it would be so easy to get the wound open again.

He doesn’t, though. He slides his mouth upwards over Geoffrey’s round biceps, over his shoulder, biting softly, mindful of his fangs, and moaning at the delightful taste of Geoffrey’s skin. God, he could spend the entire night just savouring him, feeling him squirm ever so slightly between his spread legs.

“I’m pretty sure I would have a heart attack if you were to do that,” Geoffrey tells Jonathan, startling him into realising he’d been speaking aloud. Jonathan offers him an embarrassed smile. Geoffrey is exaggerating, naturally, he’s nowhere near a heart attack. Jonathan can hear his heart beating fast but steadily as if in anticipation for what’s to come.

Jonathan reaches for Geoffrey’s cock with more bravado than certainty, testing the heat and weight of him as he strokes it a few times. He thumbs the slick tip and Geoffrey moans, thrusting slowly into Jonathan’s grip. Jonathan is suddenly overcome by a thunderous wave of _want_. God, he wants it, craves it so fiercely it shocks him into action. He reaches for the lotion, rushed, gets Geoffrey’s prick slick and reaches behind himself to line him up.

“Do you have any idea what you look like?” Geoffrey breathes roughly, accent hanging thickly on every word as Jonathan, flustered with inexperience, struggles to let him inside his body. Geoffrey patiently waits him out, lets him work out the angle and pressure he needs while stroking his legs, his tense thighs, the softly-haired plane of his abdomen, all but eating him up with his eyes. “Debauched, Jonathan, strainin’, so fuckin’ _eager_ to take my cock.”

Jonathan shudders from head to toe as Geoffrey breaches him, just barely sinking inside, the hunter’s words and his hoarse voice stoking the fire roaring in his loins. Geoffrey feels unbearably wide and Jonathan lets his head fall back, slowly rolls his hips in small, tense circles, trying to let him in deeper. He can’t help the breathless noises he makes through it, sensation rippling through his body.

“That’s it, that’s it… God, you are-” Geoffrey is at a loss as tight pressure pulls him slowly inside Jonathan’s body. His fingertips brush the angles of Jonathan’s ribs, nails teasing the tight little circles of Jonathan’s nipples until the Ekon’s voice starts to get louder, his moans deeper. “Oh, you’re amazing,” Geoffrey whispers, devotion colouring his words. He wraps one big hand around Jonathan’s rock-hard erection, strokes him from root to tip as his free hand fondles his bollocks.

Jonathan doesn’t respond. Can’t. He starts thrusting into Geoffrey’s grasp, sliding forward and then sinking back onto his cock with increasingly confident movements until, god, he’s taking all of Geoffrey, hole fluttering around his length. Very soon he’s lifting up on his knees, dropping down hard enough for the bed to protest louder than the slap of skin against skin.

Geoffrey meets Jonathan at every turn, grinding forward into him, pulling him in with a hand on his arse, more along for the ride than trying to control the Ekon’s movements. Jonathan’s eyes are mere slits, now, his lips parted as he breathes and moans his pleasure, his enraptured expression a mirror to the reverence blossoming on Geoffrey’s gaze. Geoffrey almost doesn’t want it to end, but he feels in his grasp just how close Jonathan is after a few minutes, the Ekon’s body twitching rhythmically, his cock growing impossibly harder.

And Geoffrey tells him, “Come on.” Encourages him. Tells him just how much he needs him to come, how much he needs to see it.

Jonathan is unbearably tight, suddenly, and then he sinks down all the way and goes very still, stops moving altogether.

“Ah! Geoffrey,” he gasps. Geoffrey watches it unfold, Jonathan biting down on his lower lip just as the first spray of his release hits Geoffrey’s chest, pearly white against the dark hair on the hunter’s pecs, his thighs shaking around Geoffrey’s hips. Geoffrey moans in appreciation, works Jonathan through it, stroking his cock, grinding into him even though he can’t otherwise move. He feels like he’s witnessing a fucking miracle, every wave that wrecks Jonathan’s body a vision of utter marvel, every messy splash of come across Geoffrey’s fist and stomach a gift. The curses Jonathan chokes on are almost unintelligible, mingled with moans, gasps, and Geoffrey’s name.

Geoffrey surges up as Jonathan’s pleasure lets off, wraps both arms around the Ekon and kisses his pleasure-slack mouth. Jonathan has gone pliant in his arms, holding on to him and shivering beautifully. Geoffrey tips him backwards onto the pillows and finds his place again between the Ekon’s legs, fucking him with slow, drown-out motions that satiate just as much as make him want to scream.

Jonathan clutches at Geoffrey’s back as the hunter loses himself inside his body — agonisingly slow, gasping for breath with his face pressed into Jonathan’s neck — and thinks, faintly, that his body, his bed and the entire world outside will never be the same again.

This time he’s in agreement with the shift in paradigm.

“Jon! God,” Geoffrey gasps before pulling Jonathan into a kiss that is almost an attack, all tongue and sharp teeth, hips pumping suddenly out of rhythm, violently pistoning his cock into Jonathan before stilling with a wounded groan. Jonathan feels this very odd and very warm rush of sensation inside him as Geoffrey reaches his climax, grinding his hips forward with shuddering motions and spending himself within the Ekon, filling him up.

As Geoffrey goes lax on top of him, Jonathan tightens his arms and legs around the hunter, unwilling to let him go just yet.

“Stay,” he whispers, unsure whether he means ‘stay inside me’ or ‘stay here in bed’ or just ‘don’t go’, in general. Geoffrey is okay with any and every single one of those, though. He tucks in more closely, nuzzles the side of Jonathan’s jaw.

“Okay,” he says. He knows his men (and half of London, at this point) know where he was supposed to be tonight and in whose company. He can already anticipate all the awkward questions he’ll have to answer should he decide to stay much longer or spend the rest of the night with Jonathan. That’s not really a decision he needs to actively make, however, as they settle more comfortably against each other. He rests his head on Jonathan’s chest, eyelids dropping, and whatever consequences this night might have will be a problem for future Geoffrey to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's something to be said about how willing I am to just finish a story with a sex scene, but, heeey, I've never claimed to be a ~~~~deep writer  
> hope it's good smut  
> as always, let me know if there's anything too blatantly incorrect or incoherent out there please?
> 
> also, shoutout to illgetmyspade for quite literally lighting up my motivation to finish this piece with kind words <3 much appreciated

**Author's Note:**

> you might have noticed Thought Contagion is on hiatus. Ooops. Sorry about that.  
> This one is almost finished, though, and should be around 10k words long. I just broke it into chapters so it'll be easier to edit.


End file.
